


who what when where why HOW

by CadetDru



Series: The Arc of an Archangel [4]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett, Murder Mysteries - Neil Gaiman
Genre: Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Crowley Was Raphael Before Falling (Good Omens), Gen, Sauntering Vaguely Downwards (Good Omens)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-08
Updated: 2020-04-07
Packaged: 2021-02-28 20:47:36
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,068
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23193427
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CadetDru/pseuds/CadetDru
Summary: Every mystery: a question of motive, means, opportunity.
Series: The Arc of an Archangel [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1640089
Kudos: 11





	1. Motive

Raguel sauntered downwards more slowly than Raphael. He started from the beginning. When Lucifer turned his back, tatted his rebellion, Raguel didn't join him. Raguel was surprised that Raphael did, or rather that Raphael had to. 

Carasel was the first to die. Lucifer was the first to cry. Raguel was the first to question his duty. 

Raguel could tell no one of Lucifer's fate, how he had been set up to fail. There was no one that he wanted to tell. Raphael noticed something was wrong, with Lucifer more than with Raguel. 

Raphael noticed more than they should have. They were distinctive. They had style. They were noticeable.

Love and Lust hadn't been widely distributed yet, so those couldn't be attributed to how others responded to Raphael. Aziraphale in particular had a certain softness towards the star maker.

Aziraphale wasn't around. Lucifer was talking to Raphael. Raguel was vaguely around them. 

"Death is here," Lucifer explained. "After death is destruction, is nothing. There is no justice in Her Creation. We can't go on like this."

"We can't," Raphael said. "Why can't we, exactly?" they said, in a drawn-out stammer. They didn't seem to like using language in the same way that the others did.

"A stand must be taken."

"Must it?" Raphael said again.

"You're asking questions. That doesn't end well. Does it, Raguel?" Lucifer didn't focus his attention on Raguel in any way.

Raguel didn't nod, didn't shrug, just moved in an incomprehensible sort of way. 

When the Fall came, when the plunge was underway, Raphael would have dragged Raguel down with them if they could.


	2. Means

Aziraphale had a golden sword. It was golden with flames, when it needed to be in Eden, it had always needed to be.

Raguel had never had a weapon, but he had never needed one. He was created to be the Lord's own weapon. He needed nothing else besides his own essence. 

Aziraphale being given a weapon didn't mean that he needed it. He had fought valiantly against the Fallen, was prepared to continue. He was stronger than he seemed, solidified through the loss of his beloved Raphael. He was not beloved by Raphael, but that was of no matter. One day, he would face Raguel. One day, he would against the Plan, against the Lord, and then he would face Raguel. 

Aziraphale gave own sword away to protect the humans. Raguel was not called in the Lord's judgment of that. Aziraphale didn't Fall because of it, which meant it was somehow within Her Great Plan. 

Crawly was the only direct witness, and the only one who acknowledged it. Raphael wasn't quite gone then. A kernel of them was still locked away at Crawly's core. The love that surged in Crawly at this act of foolish bravery threatened to burn that kernel, to make it burst forth. He almost redeemed himself, right then and there.

Crawly could never possess the sword. It was fine if the human had it, if it was turned over to the horsemen in due time. If Crawly ever got his hands now it, then Raphael would come forth and try to take on Raguel's own function. 

Raguel's own Fall took a long time coming, a long time of fighting against his function or performing it in not quite the right way. He was too forgiving, too understanding, compassionate without giving enough mercy. He never loved another angel in the painful and not fully returned way that Aziraphale loved Raphael, or that Crawly loved Aziraphale. He never revered an angel to the point of worship. That blasphemy was beyond him. 

There was a chance, there was always a chance, that Crawly would get the sword. That he would do whatever he thought was Right. 


	3. Opportunity

The day of the end of the world, Raguel was in London. He was at a pub, watching Crowley try to drink his fears away. 

Aziraphale was gone. Aziraphale wasn’t any of Raguel’s concern. He was just another weapon of the Lord’s. He never needed that sword. Raphael hadn't even gotten the chance. 

"MY BEST FRIEND," Crowley cried. 

Raguel sat down at his table. "Do you remember the first death?"

"What?" Crowley said, struggling to focus his gaze. "No. I mean… human or otherwise?"

"You were around for both, Raphael."

Crowley took another drink. "I don't remember."

"If Aziraphale doesn't come back, what will you do? Run or fight?"

"Fight," Crowley said grimly.

"Why not run?" Raguel suggested,

Raphael wasn’t going to return to Heaven. They couldn’t. They still burned, a golden flame within Crowley’s being. They should have been extinguished long ago.

"They killed Aziraphale," Crowley said. An unholy vengeance was coming over him. "He was Good. Better than all of them. And they obliterated him from this earth." He shook the bottle. "I'll find his sword and avenge his death."

"No, the sword isn't for you." 

Crowley teared up again. "He didn't even want it. He just gave it away…"

Raguel kissed Crowley, quickly and softly on the lips. 

Crowley coughed, golden ash spilling out. He took a drink to wash the taste out of his mouth. He wasn't lost in memories any more. “Who are you? Where did you come from?”

“I am Raguel.”

“What did you do?” he asked. Raphael was completely gone, but his habit of asking too many questions remained. 

“What needed to be done. What was supposed to have been done. Raphael is gone. You need to be pure when you face down your enemies. You were diluted.”

“How could you do that? Why couldn't you burn Crowley away?"

“I don’t create. I destroy. I can’t make an angel, but I can punish a demon. Don’t try to do the right thing, Crowley. Do what needs to be done. Do what Aziraphale would have wanted.” 

Raguel exhaled smoke, lit a cigarette. Crowley wouldn’t remember anything else but that. Smoke, then fire. 

"There's no smoking in here," Crowley said. Sobriety and sanity were crashing down on him. He drank the last of his bottle. 

"Then I'll be on my way." Raguel said.

"I will find the sword." Crowley said.

"No, you won't. You're not interested in swords. You just want another drink."

Crowley nodded, took a swig, and thought about Falling. He was sitting alone, thinking about poor Aziraphale. His lips burned and he tasted ashes. He didn't remember anything. He could barely even remember the Fall.


End file.
